They Know They Don't
by Oneturtledove
Summary: Some things Mulder knows and doesn't know about Scully, and some things Scully knows and doesn't know about Mulder.
1. He Knows

Disclaimer: if they were mine do you honestly think that i would sit at the computer all day long? Not so much.

Spoilers: None really. Slight reference to Dreamland II, but at this point i don't think anyone could really be spoiled. We've all seen every episode or at least the effects of every episode, right?

A/N: I wrote this today in about an hour, after i ate some powdered donut holes. Also kind of inspired by the first verse of "Beautiful Disaster" by Jon McLaughlin.

"She loves her momma's lemonade  
Hates the sounds that goodbyes make  
She prays one day she'll find someone to need her  
She swears there's no difference between the lies and compliments  
It's all the same if everybody leaves her."

He Knows

He knows that she prefers donut holes over regular donuts. It has nothing to do with the fact that they are bite-sized, and everything to do with the fact that donuts are no longer made from a solid circle of dough and punched through, but are simply shaped into the familiar donut shape. Donut holes should therefore be obsolete. Their existence does not make sense because the process that the donuts go through no longer results in small balls of dough. So donut holes must be made separately. The fact that neither the donut nor the donut hole came first just adds to the mystique of the whole matter. It's an irony that never fails to delight her. She'd pick powdered donut holes every time.

He knows that she prefers heeled shoes to flat. Not to make her look taller, but because the arches in her feet are so high, flat shoes do not provide enough support and tend to make her whole body ache. The height of the heel is only a bonus, but he also knows that she secretly loves being short. It's easier to catch someone off guard when you're only five feet and a few inches tall.

He knows that she would rather have a bowl of cereal than a well balanced breakfast, no matter how many times she has urged, begged and commanded him to eat the latter. Cereal makes her feel like she's five, especially when there is a prize in the bottom of the box. He pretends not to look as she dumps a disgusting amount of sugar over her _Rice_ _Krispies_, pours the milk on, and listens to the trademark snaps, crackles, and pops.

He knows that given a choice, she would choose to drive rather than relax in the passenger seat. This wouldn't come as a surprise to anyone, but the reason is not that she wants to feel powerful or in command. She just wants to choose what radio station they listen to.

He knows that she hates the dishwasher and would rather clean her dishes by hand. It's not because the dishwasher is so big and the number of dishes she uses in a given week is so small. It's because the sloshing of the water and the scent of the soap relax her, almost as much as a bubble bath does.

He knows that at first, she smells simply sweet. He also knows that with a little investigation it is revealed that she smells of vanilla and currants in the winter and orange and mint in the summer. It is a combination of shampoo and perfume, mingled together in the perfect amounts to produce a fragrance that he has simply labeled _Her._

He knows that nine times out of ten, she will search for a pen with blue ink even if one with black ink is sitting right next to her. Blue ink looks happier, hopeful. Her paperwork is done in blue, and save for a few entries, her personal journal is also. Her notes to him are written in red, green, or purple. He likes to think that he know what that means.

He knows that she has mixed feelings about her family. Sometimes she enjoys them and wants to be near them, but most of the time she would rather go it alone. It's not that she doesn't love them, but she was always the black sheep of the family in one way or another and her job is making it harder and harder to blend.

He knows that she used to speak with an accent. The first six years of her life were spent in Mississippi, and when she gets tired and nostalgic, her past is evident. She abandoned the accent after cruel teasing from new classmates further north, the first and last time she would ever let someone else's opinion dictate what she did.

He knows that on her free weekends, she sleeps in until 10, wears glasses instead of contacts, and can often be found in jeans or sweats. She craves these weekends, and often times does not answer her phone, or respond to e-mails. He tries to respect this, but sometimes a case is too pressing, his excitement and curiosity too much.

He knows that _Gone With The Wind_ makes her cry. She doesn't cry for Scarlett, but for Rhett, a man who loved intensely and was not cherished in return. She sees him in Rhett, his past in Scarlett, herself sometimes in Bonnie, sometimes in Melanie, and sometimes she only sees herself sitting on the couch as an observer. When she's mad at him, she's Rhett and he's Scarlett and she wants to push him down the stairs too. But the last scene always creates a terrible feeling in her gut, for she sees his eyes in Rhett's- cold, hurt, distant.

He knows that she eats her ice-cream straight out of the tub. Ice-cream is an indulgence and should not be regulated by how much can fit into the bowl. She doesn't like toppings on the ice-cream, for they mar the flavor intended by the one who made the ice-cream in the first place. Bad days drive her to hot fudge toppings, but that's as far as she'll go.

He knows that she would rather have a burger than a salad, but after all these years she still cannot give in to the temptation in front of him. At least not on a regular basis. Ordering a side of fries with her salad seems to be a happy medium. The bee pollen has become a thing of the past.

He knows that her perfectly manicured nails are done by someone else, on one of those rare weekends she has all to herself. She does it to retain her femininity while holding a gun or treating his injuries. Biting her nails would not make her any less of a woman, but he doesn't tell her this.

He knows the sounds she makes when she sleeps, from peaceful breathing to brokenhearted crying. Different dreams produce different sounds, and only twice has he heard a giggle. When he hears her nightmares, he crosses from his room into hers, via their adjoining door, holds her until she wakes, then brushes her tears away before leaving again. They are silent through the whole process and the next morning they do not speak of it.

He knows that she loves the rain, actually preferring it to sun about 300 times a year. She says that the rain is honest. Beautiful things are still beautiful and ugly things are still ugly when it's rainy and overcast. In the sun everything looks good and in the grey slushy snow of DC everything looks depressed.

He knows that when she dies she wants him there. She doesn't want anyone else, and she doesn't want to be inside. She wants to feel the wind on her face, hear birds chirping, and have his arms around her as she drifts away. She plans her death the way other women plan their weddings, but she has never been like other women. For that he is grateful.


	2. He Doesn't Know

Disclaimer: We've been through this.

Spoilers: Emily

A/N: I didn't know if i was going to write more on this one, but i got a few wonderful little comments about the first one, so i decided to give it another go. It'll probably be 4 chapters in all. maybe 5. We'll see.

He doesn't know that she wanted to be a chef. From the time she was three and watched her mother make spaghetti, she has found herself delighted by the magic that goes on in the kitchen. The sounds, the smells, not to mention the sampling. The idea of being a doctor didn't even cross her mind until she was 17 and her father told her that she could learn to cook from a recipe file. She gave up her dream because it didn't seem practical. Not many people she knew were chefs.

He doesn't know that she was 7 when she first lost a sister. Grace was 3 and had run out in the street after a ball. A car had hit her and sped off. They never found the driver. The memory of the little girl had faded, along with the pain of losing her, but that didn't mean she had never existed.

He doesn't know that she hates to fold her socks. She usually just stuffs them in a drawer, along with nylons, bras, and underwear, making the whole drawer a mismatched mess. Sometimes this alone makes her late to work.

He doesn't know that she wakes up every night at 3:15 a.m. no matter where they are, because she's sure he's going to call. There's nothing she can do to keep herself from waking up, unless she's up already. He also doesn't know that she always sleeps better after he calls.

He doesn't know that she loves football. She hardly gets to watch the games anymore, but she still calls her brothers and teases them when their favorite teams loose. She picks a team based on their colors and the quarterback's last name. More often than not, she picks a winner, leaving her brothers to groan in humiliation.

He doesn't know that she can actually sing pretty well. She only told him she couldn't because she didn't want to. She's not the next chart topping wonder, but the shower head certainly doesn't complain. Neither does her steering wheel.

He doesn't know that she was a cheerleader in high school. It was something that Missy talked her into, and she ended up loving. She was on the squad for three years, each year being the one on top of the pyramid, and the one most often selected to be basket tossed. The skirts were longer than most, the cheers not as stereotypical and the girls not as flighty.

He doesn't know that her worst nightmares do not involve Emily or cancer or abductions. They involve him, particularly him being taken from her in some form or another. Those are the ones that make her cry or call out for him. They are the ones that follow her for days, sitting in the back of her mind constantly reminding her that he is not invincible.

He doesn't know that her favorite dreams are also about him. They are usually mundane, but sometimes their dream-selves go fishing or to the beach. Sometimes they end up in Disneyland. Or sometimes they eat dinner together, with Emily and several other blue-eyed children. Sometimes the good dreams take place in the future, when they are wrinkled and slow moving, but she still thinks he's handsome and he still thinks she's beautiful, and they still debate everything, and sometimes they race their wheelchairs down the hallway.

He doesn't know that she has several pictures of the two of them together- some from crime scenes, some that her mom snapped when they weren't paying attention. Her favorite is a picture of them sitting at her mom's piano. Their backs are to the camera and they're smiling at each other. She loves the way he looks at her.

He doesn't know that she wants her dog back. She misses the happy face and the wagging tail that greeted her every day. She misses having something warm to sleep beside, having something to talk to when her brain was in overdrive and pacing wasn't helping. She loved that little dog, even though he barked and nipped Mulder's heels (which she thought was funny and justified since Mulder wouldn't share his pizza crust once). Sometimes she thinks about getting another dog, but knows she is not home enough to be a proper owner.

He doesn't know that she has an intense respect for their boss. She sees the man as completely fair, understanding, and rational. He stands up for what he knows is right, and he respects the agents under him as well. He reminds her of her father even though he is younger. He is the kind of man that the world is running out of.

He doesn't know that she has a draft of her letter of resignation saved on her computer. She will probably never print it, and it was written in a moment of frustration, but she kind of likes having such a secret from him. It is the one thing the she hopes he never finds out. Try as she might, she has been unable to delete it.

He doesn't know that she stole one of his sweatshirts and often sleeps with it. She would be embarrassed to admit it, and has him convinced that the sweatshirt was left in a hotel room somewhere. The old fabric smells like him and she is near-mortified at herself for doing such a thing, but she sleeps more soundly and has better dreams when the sweatshirt is tucked up under her chin.

He doesn't know that she has never been properly kissed. Of course she's been kissed, but not in a way that was pure and completely adoring. No one has ever treated her this way, much less kissed her with those emotions. She doesn't really mind, but once in her life, she would like to be kissed like this. She also toys with the idea of kissing upside down, which has stuck in her mind since she was 10 and playing on a jungle gym.

He doesn't know that she loves him. She loves him more than she has ever loved anyone. More complete, more fulfilling. She loves him in a way she can't explain because she doesn't understand it herself. It is something that she accepts and doesn't think about, for it can keep her up for nights in a row. Instead she simply basks in the feeling, hoping that eventually, their day will come.


	3. She Knows

Disclaimer: …

Spoilers: Millennium

A/N: Think I can finish this thing in 24 hours? I have to work tomorrow, so let's give me 48, just to be nice. I am going to dedicate this one to my fish Big Blue because he's a good companion. Also because it is kind of late and I am feeling a little doofy. This chapter is set after Millennium.(This is important since chapter 2 came before…)

She knows that he actually hates to run. He would rather play basketball or something. He runs because he has an intense fear that one day he will be chasing a suspect and he'll get a side ache or something. If he runs every day, or as often as he can, the chances of that happening go down.

She knows that he hasn't had an official physical in about 10 years. He gets into enough scrapes that the doctors should catch any ailments. He hates physicals, they just make him feel old. Especially when the doctor starts telling him to take vitamins and sleep better.

She knows that as much as he complains, he doesn't mind a plain cheese pizza. He would rather have meat, but he'll eat it if it's sitting there. He likes the cheesy bread, but he always lets her have the last piece.

She knows that he has fish because he likes the sound of the tank, and the faint green glow looks slightly alien to him. Actually having fish never occurred to him until the Lone Gunmen said something about it. Having an empty fish tank was kind of weird, might scare off the ladies. He went out and bought 7 fish the next day.

She knows that he learned the art of pencil throwing from his father, who had hundreds of pencils in the ceiling above his desk. He does a lot of things that his father did as a way of forgiving his father posthumously.

She knows that he loves hospital JELL-O. There's something different in the way they make it and JELL-O made at home just doesn't hold the same appeal. He insists on this no matter how many times she tells him that it's not true and JELL-O is JELL-O no matter where you are. He just smiles, smelling conspiracy.

She knows that he hates Thanksgiving, and can't eat turkey or cranberry sauce because the memories of that night are still too strong. Lunch meat turkey is okay, so is cranberry sauce from a can. But when the food becomes more real, so do the images. And then he is lost.

She knows that he has selective hearing when he's busy. This has been observed by many people, but never quite to the extent with which she has had to deal with it. His brain can function on hundreds of different levels at once, but her voice is not one of them. Making him responsible for information given during these times just ticks him off.

She knows that he hates fighting with her more than she lets on. Even a lively debate can make him uncomfortable. Too many times in his life, lively debates came, grew, and the other participant took it too far. Both ended up hurt. He doesn't want that to happen.

She knows that no matter how many times she reassures him, he will always be afraid that she will leave him. He trusts her, but he doesn't know how much longer she can hang on.

She knows that sometimes when he leaves her, his main goal is to bring her back treasure- proof. He wants to show up at her door holding his prize. _Look what I found!_ And they would celebrate the big discovery together.

She knows that he is a good cook, but he cannot shop. One trip to the grocery store made her roll her eyes, and made him frustrated. He cooks the way he would like to work- having all the elements and being able to put them together. The gathering doesn't appeal to him very much.

She knows that he hates a messy floor. He can have stacks of papers, open books, food wrappers and old tissues laying on every flat surface, but if the floor has too much dust or a few crumbs on it, he has to clean it up. She's never figured out why.

She knows that he likes to go to the library, find himself a quiet corner, and read Shakespeare's sonnets. He doesn't do this because he is a romantic or because he even likes the sonnets. He does it because the words can float freely through his mind and he can relax. It's soothing, reminding him of simpler times.

She knows that he tastes like cinnamon and his lips are soft and his kiss is gentle. His eyes sparkle for days after he has sneaked a kiss from her. He enjoys the fact that all four times he has done it, he's caught her off guard, even when he announced his intentions.

She knows that he has a lot of money put away, partly from an inheritance, and partly from the fact that he has no one to spend money on. He could retire early and live comfortably if he wanted to. He sees no point in spending money just on himself if he can survive with only the basics.

She knows that he sends his mother flowers every once in a while and her lack of thanks has never deterred him. It's a different bouquet every time; roses, wildflowers, exotics, sometimes a mix. They aren't meant to be a centerpiece, just to brighten her day. The card is always the same. _Have a wonderful day. I love you._ She never writes him back.


	4. She Doesn't Know

Disclaimer: I am more tired of writing this than I am of hearing that stupid "Pocket full of sunshine" song. Ug. If they were mine I would have enough money to make that song go away. Also "I don't like your girlfriend." Maybe I just need to find a new radio station?

Spoilers: The End? Sixth Extinction maybe.

A/N: Now taking suggestions for more chapters. See if you can spot some duplicate lines from earlier chapters… Sorry about the Diana thing. I had to. Other than that, writing this story has given me lots of warm fuzzy feelings. Aw...

She doesn't know that he never had a Bar Mitzvah. His mother had been planning it for two years, but he called it off saying he didn't want to do it until his sister came back. His parents respected his wishes and they never talked of it again.

She doesn't know that he worked at a nursing home for a summer before college. He mostly washed dishes and helped people from their wheelchairs to the table, but he heard enough war stories to actually consider joining the Marines. He never did.

She doesn't know that he was in love with Diana Fowley and had even bought her a ring before she went to Berlin. He never gave Diana the ring, but he still has it in a drawer somewhere. He thought about pawning it and sending her the receipt, but he thought it was better to cut all ties.

She doesn't know that the first time he got drunk he passed out and ended up in the hospital. He was 16, and has only let himself get drunk a few times since. It was not pleasant to wake up covered in who knows what and not remember a thing that happened.

She doesn't know that he loves catching her eye across the room. To him, that is more intimate than touching her hand or kissing her. It's their connection. He's never had that with anyone else. He would give up their late night phone calls, or early Sunday breakfasts before he would give up catching her eye.

She doesn't know that sometimes he creeps into her room and watches her sleep. He doesn't do it because he's scared of losing her, or because he wants to make sure she's okay. He does it because he loves seeing her totally relaxed and happy. He wishes she could look like that all the time.

She doesn't know that he actually sleeps in his bed most nights. He's fallen off the couch too many times now, and his tired body can't take it anymore. The softball sized bruise on his hip is testament to that fact.

She doesn't know that he loves the ocean. Despite its ability to make him seasick, he is fascinated by the fact that more is known about the far reaches of space than of the floor of the sea. If aliens landed, wouldn't they like to colonize the sea first? No one would ever find them down there.

She doesn't know that he saves all the fortunes from his fortune cookies- especially the ones that remind him of her. They're in a shoe box and serve no purpose, save for amusement. His favorite is the forecast that he will order more orange chicken.

She doesn't know that most of his ugly ties were given to him by his grandfather when he was only 11. He now wears them because of who gave them to him, not because he likes or even cares about the design. He likes it when she straightens his tie, or even when she gets fed up and ties it for him. He pretends to be annoyed, but inside he smiles, wondering where she learned to tie a tie while looking in the mirror.

She doesn't know that he hates to visit her in autopsy bays. The smell, the cold, and the dead bodies really bother him. Sometimes he leaves the room and gets sick, other times he has to step into the shower to wash the feeling away. As much as he likes to watch her at work, he wishes he didn't have to see everything.

She doesn't know that he likes to watch her put her make-up on. Many a time he has stood in the bathroom door of her hotel room, urging her to hurry up, but really wishing he could watch her all day. There's something so comforting and domestic about the scene that sometimes he has to leave before he spurts out something he doesn't want to say.

She doesn't know that he has a picture of her in his wallet. It is hidden in case she ever snoops in there, but he knows it's there at that's all that matters. Sometimes when he is stuck in traffic, or in line for coffee, he takes the picture out and looks at it. It's an old picture from a crime scene. Her face is all business, but her eyes are twinkling at something he said. He loves the way she looks at him.

She doesn't know that he loves her. He loves her more than he has ever loved anyone. More complete, more fulfilling. He loves her in a way he can't explain because he doesn't understand it himself. It is something that he accepts and doesn't think about, for it can keep him up for nights in a row. Instead he simply basks in the feeling, hoping that eventually, their day will come.


	5. Epilogue They Find Out

Disclaimer: No.

Spoilers: Eh.

A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews. To say that one of them went up on my wall as inspiration would be the whole truth. I decided this story needed an ending, so here is my attempt.

* * *

Mulder tried again to knock on the door while holding a bag of Chinese food and a pizza. He had almost spilled both on his last try. He resorted to kicking the door and hollering.

"Scully, I bring sustenance."

He heard her shuffling towards the door. It opened slowly and he was greeted by his partner- disheveled, without make-up, and almost swallowed by her pajamas.

"What are you doing here?"

"I brought food," he explained, brushing past her and setting his kill down on the table.

"Mulder, this may come as a surprise to you, but normal people subsist on more than pizza and Kung-Pao chicken."

"I know. That's why I brought rice."

She just sighed and sat down on the couch.

"Are you hungry?"

"No."

He came out of the kitchen with a plate of pizza and a plate of assorted Chinese food.

"Well you're going to eat anyway."

"Mulder… I'm sick."

"You're not sick. You're feeling bloaty, fatigued, and moody, and you have cramps."

"How do you know?"

"It's the second week of the month. That and you just about bit my head off when I asked you if you were feeling okay."

"Oh. Sorry."

"No problem. Now, Italy or China?"

She sighed.

"Both?"

He chuckled and handed her the plate of Chinese food.

"Eat half and we'll swap."

She nodded and started to eat while he flipped through the channels.

"I'm sorry you're feeling crummy."

"I'm sorry I look crummy."

"You don't look crummy."

"Mulder, I saw your face when I opened the door."

"Maybe I couldn't find you in all that flannel."

"Whatever."

"Hey, Happy Valentines Day."

"Uck."

"What?"

"Valentines Day is just a ploy by greeting card companies and florists and chocolate conglomerates to boost sales during a slow season. If no one could make money or political book on it, then it would cease to exist, and I don't want to play into that kind of thing. Not to mention gift shops and restaurants and tux rental stores, and you know, I'll bet that sales at jewelry shops skyrocket during the month of February. Do you know how much money is spent every year solely on Valentines Day? What if we gave up the pseudo holiday one year and used all the money we would spend to feed starving children or do AIDS research or something else meaningful?"

"Geez, Scully."

"What?"

"You're just so… "I'm sixteen and I don't have a boyfriend and I hate Valentines Day and I'm going to wear black and shoot death glares at everyone and call it National Heartbreak Day," he said in his most high pitched voice. "It's kind of cute."

"That's not very nice."

"Scully, isn't it a nice idea for someone to have a day set aside to relax and have a good time with someone they love?"

"I think it's more romantic for someone to randomly clear their schedule and surprise someone rather than do it when Hallmark tells them to."

"That's PMS talking."

"That's probably true, but being cynical feels good right now."

"So I guess you hate birthdays then too."

"Why would I hate birthdays?"

"Because, society tells us that we need to celebrate them. It's not spontaneous and you know it's coming."

"Well…"

"I guess I won't get you anything for your birthday then. Wouldn't want to make you mad."

"You can get me something for my birthday."

"It's all or nothing. You've got to let me get you something for Valentines Day also."

She sighed.

"Okay, but what are you going to get on such short notice?"

He stood from the couch and walked towards the door.

"I'll be right back."

He was gone for almost 10 minutes and she was ready to go looking for him when he finally returned.

"Close your eyes, Scully."

She clapped her hands over her eyes and waited until he told her to open them. Sitting on the coffee table was a huge bouquet of wild flowers, a two foot by two foot box of chocolates, and the largest teddy bear she had ever seen.

"Mulder… when did you…"

"You left work at 4. I left at 4:30."

"How did you get wild flowers this time of year?"

He just smiled and sat down.

"Thank you, Mulder," she said, leaning over to hug him.

"You're welcome."

"You can get me a Valentines present anytime you want."

"Are you gonna get me one?"

"You can share my chocolates."

"Sounds like a plan."

"I think that bear needs it's own seat."

"I think it needs it's own zip code."

"What am I going to do with that thing?"

"Set him in a rocking chair with a shotgun aimed at your door so if anyone comes in, he'll scare them to death."

"Should I also rig a sound recording of someone saying: "Git off muh property!"?"

"Sure. Then you could patent the whole thing and make a tidy profit, then pay off that bill you still owe the FBI."

"Or maybe you could not bring that up ever again and I won't feel the need to smack you."

"Noted."

They finished their dinner in silence, both watching the news but not really paying attention. He took the empty plate from her and set it on the coffee table while she sighed tiredly.

"Come over here, honey."

She wouldn't have obeyed him if he hadn't used the term of endearment. She could count on three fingers the times he had called her that. It was definitely not something she hated. She didn't hate his fingers running through her hair either.

"Maybe you should go to bed," he suggested as her eyelids started to droop.

"Nah," she mumbled back, beginning to feel the effects of the previous week and a full stomach. "I'd rather stay out here with you for a while."

He maneuvered them a little bit so she could lay against him, then pulled a blanket off the back of the couch.

"What do you want for your birthday, Scully?"

"Hmmm. This is good."

"Okay, I think I could manage that. What else?"

"Nothing. I don't want anything else."

"Okay."

They fell into silence again and it wasn't long before she was asleep. He sat up a little and managed to pick her up and carry her to her room.

"Mulder? What are you doing?"

"I'm putting you to bed. You're tired."

"But I don't want you to leave."

"I know. You need your sleep though. I'm going to turn off your alarm."

She rubbed her eyes and sat up.

"But I have to go to work in the morning."

"I'll call and wake you up, okay?"

"You're not going to sleep on the couch?"

"No, not tonight. Go back to sleep."

"Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too."

He turned the alarm clock off and left the room. No explanations were given, no qualifiers added, no clarifications. They didn't speak of the capacity in which they loved each other. They didn't discuss how the revelation would affect their partnership. They didn't kiss each other or make promises or even exchange a meaningful glance. None of that was needed because they both simply knew.


End file.
